“Five!”
“—You’ve been humming Chopin’s Funeral March.”
“Yep.”
“For the last half an hour.”
Goosebumps skittered down my arm. “The melody feels fitting for the situation.”
I met a heftily raised brow. “Is there some metaphorical death that’s happened here that I don’t know about?”
I leaned back in my chair. “Nah, it’s a haunting piece. Suspenseful.” I gestured around us. “The air feels tight.”
“Tight?”
Like my skin. I shoved the first volume of graduates back and opened the second one.
“Yes,” Hunter mused. “The air does have a certain tightness to it.”
A panicked prickle rose up my nape. I swung back on my chair, balancing on its back legs, not looking at Hunter. “It’s because we’re not supposed to be here. And it’s mostly dark.”
“Hmm.”
“Get back to cross-referencing.”
He gave me a warning look. “Stop swaying on your chair. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
I stopped, legs snapping to the hardwood floor.
Another ten, twenty, thirty searched pages. I side-eyed Hunter frowning at his screen. “So what made you break the rules with me?”
“I like to get my thrills where I can, and this doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“What other thrilling shenanigans have you gotten up to in the past?”
“Too many to recount.”
“Your favorite.”
“Moonlight skinny dipping in Patoka Lake, while my parents and Shannon slept in a nearby cabin.”
“Daredevil. Who were you with?”
Hunter’s lips twisted. “Uh, nobody. It was just . . . Me and nature and silky water caressing my bits.”
“Nice.”
Hunter smiled fondly. “It was.”
I nudged him with my elbow. “So . . . an ex-boyfriend, then?”
He smirked. “My first.”
“So was this . . . I mean, time wise . . . Was it . . .”
“Before?” Hunter said, patting his thighs. “By a few months.”
A cold ache pounded in my head and sternum. I imagined Hunter lazily swimming about, imagining his future and having no idea how his life would change in a few months. I swallowed. God, how did this happen?
No one at the Scribe ever talked about it. All I knew was Hunter was paralyzed from the waist down.
I bit my lip on asking. I wanted to know, but those questions were intensely personal—and fuck, I needed to look away from his chair.
I buried my concentration in searching for another V.A. in the yearbook
We kept glancing sideways, never quite pinning the other in the act. Like a game of tag, and I was petrified of being “it.”
After twenty skin-tingling minutes, I slapped the yearbook shut. “That’s it. Five.”
Hunter clacked on his keyboard.
I peered at his screen. “Done your bit yet?”
“Almost.”
“I’ll search other yearbooks for K’s.”
Hunter grimaced. “Arduous task.”
Arduous, all right. After an hour, and more than forty K’s listed, I slammed the 1974 yearbook shut. Done searching for K’s, done wondering about their fate. Done fearing how their romance had played out. “I bet we’ll find both guys and they’ll be alive. But V never forgave K.”
Hunter paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Why do you bet that?”
“Because.” I shrugged. “So you bet they’re together?”
Hunter’s shoulders slumped. “I wish.”
“But you don’t believe it either.” I finished for him. I balanced on the back chair legs, a rotten stodginess in my gut. “Let’s get out of here—”
My chair swung too far back and I felt the rush of gravity begin to punish me. “Fuck.”
I didn’t fall.
Hunter reflexively clasped my shoulder and steered me and my chair upright. My feet found relieving purchase on the ground.
I let out a barely audible “thanks.”
His hand dragged down my arm, resting at the back of my wrist. Calloused fingers lightly pressing into my skin.
With his other hand, he hit the Enter key. “Got it. Three of our five V.A’s were drafted.”
I stared at his fingers on me, arm frozen underneath. “Excellent. We’ll return the keycard and that’s us done for the night.”
Hunter squeezed my wrist and let go. “We’ll return the keycard. But we are not done for the night.”
“We’re not?”
He looked at me, contemplative. “Can I give you a lift home?”
My stomach hopped. “A lift?”
“A ride in my van to your current abode.”
I rolled my eyes, bit my lip, and answered.
Hunter careened around corners and I clutched the overhead handle like my life depended on it. Which maybe it did.
“Holy shit. Slow down.”
Hunter slanted me a baffled look. “Huh?”
“You drive like a madman.”
“Hey, I drive super well.”
“Well enough to kill.”
Hunter laughed and lessened his grip on the gas. A little. “No one has told me I’m a shit driver before.”
“I didn’t say shit. Shit would be an improvement on this. You drive like there’s no tomorrow.”
“That’s the only way to live. Life’s short.”
“Well,” I said pointedly, glaring at the amber light he ran through. “It will be.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you.”
His driving slowed, and he even deigned to use the blinker.
“Thanks, though,” I said. “For driving me.”
“Thank you for not taking up Daisy’s offer to get lucky.”
“Why, would you have gone for it?”